


A history of misfortune

by The_Swedish_Hen



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Historical, Historical Hetalia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Whump, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:14:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23449129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Swedish_Hen/pseuds/The_Swedish_Hen
Summary: Sweden and Finland are two Nordic nations that's known eachother for a long, long time. Nowadays Sweden is known to many as a stoic, rather quiet country. But Finland knows that's all a charade and his seen him as no one else has; Down on their luck.Essentially, this is a Bad things happen bingo thing.
Relationships: Finland/Sweden (Hetalia)
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there beautiful! Alright so first of all, I've only written one chapter. I might do more I might not, it depends on what I feel like and the respons I receive. That's right, yet another fanfic writer that begs for kudos and comments! I don't ask for much, but I want you to know that a comment or kudo can and will make my day. 
> 
> Also, you might think that my Sweden is a bit ooc. That's by choice. I feel that he would be a lot more relaxed and talkative when he's with his friends, especially Finland, so... Yeah. Now you know.
> 
> Lastly, I am Swedish (shocking, right?) and I am trying my best concerning the language. Constructive critisism is definitely appreciated, but if you're going to nitpick every single grammatical mistake then just... don't.
> 
> Hope you like it!

They’d be gone for months. Years even. And Finland was worried. This king of Sweden had started out so great, but now? He’d lost. They’d lost and now they were in Norway doing God knows what. For a few months he had received letters from Sweden. But now the only ones that came to Stockholm came from Charles XII himself, and all were addressed to government officials. He supposed he should be angry, having no choice but to live in Sweden’s shadow and all that, but… It could be worse. And speaking of Sweden, at least he didn’t have to hide in some trench far up into the mountains. War really sucked. He kicked a pebble as he kept on walking to the castle. But the royals and the two nations lived there, seeing as they were pretty much one country for the moment. Oh, well.

He walked up the castle gates and gave brief nod to the to guards standing outside the door who immediately opened it. He wondered what they thought of him. Probably some sort of well-educated man, who helped the king and his advisors making sound decisions for the Swedish empire. Or, perhaps they thought he was some sort of bastard to one of the men living in the large palace? Oh, perhaps even the king’s! Nah, by this point even a bastard heir would be preferable to their current situation. But imagine the drama! Sunk in thought about the humans’ possible conspiracies concerning his nature, he startled when he felt a hand upon his shoulder. An errand boy gave him a letter, and Finland gave him a small coin as thanks. He read it. I´m coming home. Finland’s face lit up in joy, finally they were coming back. Oh, how he longed. He would pretend to very angry about the lack of letters, talking in a stern voice and all that, and when Sweden tried to apologize, he would laugh, give him a big hug and tell him that all is forgiven. The king’s dead. Finland froze. Dead? But… that… A fanfare sounded round the courtyard. The army was back. Finland ran out the door, had to knew how many were left. If he was alright.  
It was a sad gathering of men who met the city of Stockholm. It was obvious that their campaign had not been easy. In the front, Sweden and Rehnskiöld, was talking quietly amongst themselves. Rehnskiöld, the right-hand man of the fallen king. And speaking of the king. In the middle of the row a few men carried a stretcher. And on it, lay the king. But for a moment, Finland didn’t care. He only cared about seeing his Sweden again. He rushed forward to meet him but stopped when he saw the way Sweden hunched his shoulders, the way his head hung. He was devastated.

“Berwald?” Finland asked as he got closer.

“Tino.”

Not so much as a glance. Sweden and Rehnskiöld kept on talking and walking, the latter shooting an angry glance at Finland for interrupting. He guessed it was an important discussion, but still. He did make up roughly half of the empire, surely that would count as something. If he even knew. How much the king shared with their advisors was always a matter of guessing. And now, he would never know. He remained where he stood long after the rest had left. He had to talk to Sweden, needed to find out what was going to happen now from a firsthand source. But still, he remained. Perhaps he was just too scared to face the truth, still hoping that he would wake up from a terrible dream. Hoping that the letter that had arrived only today had arrived days earlier. Perhaps even weeks. Would that have changed thing? No, probably not. He would’ve tried to prepare himself on meeting Sweden again, but when seeing the look of emptiness in his face would have left him just as shattered as now. He slowly turned, walked into his room, and went to bed. Apparently, time flies when you’re having fun. And when you’re absolutely, completely terrified of tomorrow.

Sweden never visited him during the night. Finland had spent hours tossing and turning, waking up at the slightest sound just in case Sweden had walked in and wanted to pour his heart out. Finland would’ve liked that. Helping his “protector.” But that didn’t happen. He didn’t meet him again until the burial.

That evening, Finland went to the church where the king’s burial took place. Everyone was dressed in black, a certain sign of mourning. It was beautiful in a way, if a funeral could be described as beautiful. It sounded a bit macabre, come to think about it. Sweden stood, and everyone quickly hushed.

“Today, we mourn the loss of our dear king Charles. He was a good king, but alas, his time had come.”

Sweden took a deep breath, trying to still his nerves. Finland knew that look. Sweden was dangerously close to crying. He would never! A voice said. It’s just a king! And yet, here he was. Sweden shakily continued his speech. Either everyone was too busy mourning or dumb as a brick, but it didn’t seem as if anyone had noticed the way Sweden was positively clutching his notes in his hands. He nodded when the speech was done, and as the hymns started Sweden sneaked out. Finland immediately stood and rushed after. Or, he tried, when Rehnskiöld stopped him.

“This is a funeral. Where do you think you’re going?” He whispered as loudly as he dared as not to disturb the mass.

“Sorry, I just need to- “

“You don´t need to do anything but stay here like a good subordinate a mourn the king!”

“I didn’t choose him.” Finland spoke, the words of his native language easily rolling of his tongue.

He bolted. Too confused by the sudden language-switch, or too stunned by the clear underlying message, Rehnskiöld didn’t stop him. Finland didn’t stop until he came to their hideout, an old cellar long since forgotten by humanity. He quietly walked down and found Sweden hunched over a bench, quiet sobs rocking his shoulders. Finland laid a hand on his shoulder and Sweden jumped. He angrily wiped away a few tears, stammering an apology aimed at Rehnskiöld.

“It’s just me!” Finland said.

Sweden looked at him, confusion turning to realization turning to shame.

“Oh.” Pause. “To be honest I don’t know if that’s better or worse.”

Finland chuckled at his attempt at a joke and they both sat, leaning against the wall.

“What’s troubling you?” Finland asked.

“Well, my king just died.”

“We both know that’s not it.”

Sweden sighed. Finland would never stop wondering why he was so insisted at carrying everything on the inside. Had Finland ever refused listening? Not that he could think of.

“I… I am scared.”

“Scared of what? It’s not like you to be scared.”

“No, I just.”

With a groan Sweden stood and began pacing the floor.

“I always used to have a back-up plan you know? Some heir, or cousin or uncle or whatever but now… I guess his sister will take the role but we both know she’s not fit as queen, and I have more enemies than ever oh and I JUST LOST A WAR AGAINST RUSSIA! RUSSIA! What the fuck am I supposed to do now? I have Russia in the east, Denmark in the south and everyone else just wants a piece of the former Swedish empire!”

He stood, panting, and just stared at Finland who in turn looked back, stumped. That rant was like nothing he had ever heard before. But when he put it like that, they really were in big trouble.

“Do you know who killed him?”

“What?”

“Who killed Charles?”

“I don’t know. Maybe one of Norway’s soldiers, hell he himself could’ve done it, or…”

“Or?”

“Or it was one of ours.”

The loyal Caroleans, turning on their king. It could happen, he supposed. Someone who finally snapped, tired on the constant war, pillaging, and destruction.

“I don’t want to lose you.” Came a whispered hush from Sweden.

“Oh, Sweden, you could never lose me.”

“I could. Russia could take you and then you would be his, not mine.”

“My lands, maybe. But not my heart.”

Finland stood and gave Sweden a long hug. He gladly leaned into the embrace, and they just stood. For a brief moment, the impending doom was forgotten.

“Hey, let’s get out of here. Don’t want you people to believe that big, strong, Sweden has feeling now, do we?”

Sweden laughed as they left. Their talk was cut short however, as they met a furious Rehnskiöld.

“FINLAND!” He shouted, still halfway across the courtyard.

“What did you do?” Sweden asked, amused.

“Right, I might’ve expressed a small amount of dislike concerning, well, the king.”

“You WHAT?!”


	2. Hiding an injury

The coldest autumn in history. Fitting. Sweden suppressed an involuntary shiver that wrecked his starved body, all colour seemed to have bled out from him like the blood that bled from the necks of his people. Beheaded. For what? Oh, what a silly question. Of course, he knew why. One war too many. Such a dumb notion, freedom, if you really think about it. The price we pay for something that’s so impossible. And yet… If he strained enough, he could just barely see the face of his current captor, his glowed hands forcing him to continue watching this massacre, this bloodbath. Denmark. It’s always Denmark. This godforsaken union was doomed since the beginning, anyone with two working braincells could see that. To be fair, he wasn’t very sure if Denmark had even one. A small chuckle erupted from his chest, unasked for and unwanted. Unfortunately, not unnoticed.

“Oh?” A wicked smile spread across Denmark’s lips. “You like seeing your people being killed? Always knew you were some kind of freak.”

Sweden tried to turn, to rebuke, to fight, but he could barely with Denmark’s vise like grip on his hair.

“Look at it! That sword might’ve been clean at first, but now? What would happen if the executioner missed a little? That rust, dirt, and blood sinking into the body of yet another nobleman. God, I wish that would happen. Seeing them writhing in pain, begging for their pitiful lives, suffer like I have- “

“Don’t you dare say that you have suffered!” A harsh yell, probably the first proper thing he’s said in three days.

“Haven’t… suffered?” Confusion tints his words, and for a moment his grips lax.

A guard entered through a door to the right, but none of the nations paid him any attention. With an angry growl Denmark dragged up Sweden by his hair, dragging a pained hiss from his lips. He turned him around and slammed him against the stonewall. Sweden groaned as the air in his lungs were slammed out of his chest, and he was sure he would’ve tipped over and fallen to the bloodied town square many meters below if it weren’t for Denmark’s grip on his coat.

“Haven’t suffered?! How dare you imply that I haven’t suffered! All those little rebellions of yours, you think I came out of them unscathed? You think I do this for fun? This union is a two-way street my friend! Now make your people form an orderly line and do as their told or get the fuck out of here!”

“Well, I tried to.”

“What?”

Realization slowly dawned on the Dane, and he let out a dark chuckle.

“Oh, clever, real clever. A little accidental pun, tried to do that, oh my what double entendre, clever, clever guy, isn’t he clever?” He asked he guard who nodded fiercely, clearly terrified of the scene he stumbled onto. Denmark collected himself and turned to face Sweden again.

“No, my friend, you aren’t getting out of this union. You might be my worst enemy of them all, but not even I am that heartless that I can stand by and slowly watch you kill yourself. You would never survive on your own, you need me, whether you like it or not.”

In some hidden part of his heart, he knew it was true. It had been so long since he was his own country, perhaps he’d lost his touch. But he was never going to let Denmark know that. He was about to say something, yet another foolish thing that would only anger his captor further, but he was too slow.

“Although, I have to admire your bravery. One might even call it patriotism! Ha! So how about a little game, hm? Let’s see if the great lion of the north can beat his nemesis, once and for all. I won’t lock you into a cell tonight, no. I want to see your fury. I want to see you fight. And I want to see you fail. Bon voyage, mon ami!”

Whit that he gave one final push, and toppled Sweden over the edge. An audible crack could be heard as the body landed heavily on the cobblestones, its blood already beginning to mingle with the blood of the killed that’s been swept down by the rain that’s started to pour. With a wicked smile Denmark turned towards the undeniably startled guard.

“Well, what did you want?”

“Well, uhm, Sir, the other prisoner?”

“Yes, what about him?” He was already growing impatient with the human’s inability to speak clearly.

“He asked to see him?” A quick nod towards the body down below.

“Give it a couple hours, he will be fine.” Probably. Hopefully? “Lock up the cage, but don’t say anything. He’ll figure it out sooner or later.”

He threw his arm around the guards shoulder, an intimidating gesture of camaraderie as they began to walk back in as the rain began pouring more and more.

That night, the streets of Stockholm were coloured red from the blood of the slain. That night, wailing could be heard in the city, as people realizes they’d lost their husbands, fathers, and sons. That night, women dressed in proper dresses were transported to prisons in a foreign land, not knowing when or if they would be released. That night, a single horse galloped out from the protective walls of Stockholm, carrying only its rider and a body, which for all who could see appeared to be dead.

Pain. For a terrifying moment, the pain is so intense he fears that he has died. But even the fires of hell would pity him too much to force him to endure this, this horrible, unyielding pain. He groaned quietly and tried to sit up, but a pair of soft hands pushed him down again. Finland. A weak smile crept upon his face as he realized this.

“You came.”

“Of course I did. I always do.”

Sweden looked at his blurry face and rubbed his eyes. Still as blurry. He rubbed again.

“Is there something in your eyes?”

“No, sorry, probably just a little dizzy.”

Finland did something that was probably a nod, it was hard to tell.

“You had quite a fall there, let me look.”

As days turned into weeks his broken ribs would heal. His bruised to turn from black to yellow to finally disappeared. As months turned into years, a slight limp would disappear completely. A union would dissolve, and an empire would take it’s first trembling steps. But his eyesight would remain just as blurry, but maybe, just maybe, he didn’t need to burden Finland with that too. Not letting him now that despite all his efforts, it was too little too late. Oh, well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so, this takes place during an incident called Stockholm's bloodbath, usually seen as the beginnig of the end of the Kalmarunion, where the Nordic countries practically functioned as one. Both French and Sweden being seen as the lion of the north are things that would become popular later in time, but come on, it's fanfiction.

**Author's Note:**

> Have any specific whump/prompt you'd like to see? Be sure to let me know!


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